Derald wishes he could be an only child. He loves his siblings, though there are many, but more often than not they are becoming a cause of irritation. Take right now, for example. Instead of meeting up with his friends on his special day, he's forced to babysit Phaela and Dion, his younger sister and brother. Derald's older siblings ran off the minute they set foot on the grounds, which was to be expected. His parents wanted to attend the parent conference so he was stuck watching over the kids. It would be much easier to just desert them but he would get a good clout to the ear if he did.

Derald sighs long and loud as Phaela tries to drag him one direction, and Dion tries the other. They argue over each other, although their voices are drowned out by the excited chatter surrounding the three of them.

Exhausted, Derald drops to a crouch.

"Listen, you two," he hisses. "Today is my Summoning, so you have to do what I say. Understand?"

The two glance at each other before Phaela sticks her tongue out at him.

"You aren't the boss of me!"

Derald moans. Phaela is the brattiest of all his siblings.

"Today, yes, I am. Now, you don't want me to tell Mom, do you?" Dion, the shyer of the two, shakes his head hard. Their mother is a fearsome woman and more times than he cares to admit, he's gotten on her bad side.

"Fine." Phaela huffs. Triumphant, Derald tucks their hands firmly in his and deposits them swiftly at the child care center.

"I'll tell Dad to pick you up, alright?" Dion's eyes are wide and his knees are trembling. He's never been a brave child, unlike his twin sister. Phaela has already run off, probably playing with some children.

"Can I come with you?" Dion asks in a small voice. Derald hesitates, his step faltering. Sighing, he turns back and pats Dion on the head.

"Not this time, buddy."

Dion droops but lights up when one of the caretakers hands him an enchanted toy. With a delighted giggle, he follows the toy around. The woman winks at him and Derald pivots sharply and breaks into a trot. Today might just be the most important day of his life.

Today is the day of the Summoning.

Everyone who isn't a commonblood has their own Summoning. It's a simple ceremony, a simple affair, but it's celebrated widely. Every region attends, and for good reason. The Summoning is sort of like an acceptance into the world of mages, something Derald has dreamed of since he learned the word. He isn't much for aesthetics, but even he can admit that the grounds look beautiful. Colorful, cheery bunting is strung up in every corner and tantalizing smells inhibit the crisp air. This late in the year, the heat is beginning to fade.

The richer families can afford to rent their own enlarged tents but the people who can't walk around, enjoying the festivities. Derald swipes a box of crabby crackers as he goes, munching distractedly. He's jostled this way and that, but he doesn't care. People of all shapes, sizes, and colors mill around eagerly. The crabby crackers snap and yell at him, but Derald doesn't give it a second thought. That's what makes the crackers so entertaining; seeing what new insults they come up with.

The fanfare trumpets and Derald tosses the empty box into the nearby trash and sprints to the arena. The arena is the star of the grounds; with huge sloping sides, and reaching flag poles, it looks grand as ever. Derald has attended many a Summoning, thanks to his three other older siblings. Two are Tsunamis, while his oldest sister Gia is a Gaia. She's never cared, however; she likes the Gaias. Derald would love to be named an Arcane but the chances of that are very, very low. Every Pellefard before him, save for a few odd ducks, have Summoned Kelpies, the familiars of the Tsunamis. Wonderful creatures, but the dragoni have always been the beasts that catch his eye.

The arena looms before Derald, the structure casting a cool shadow over him and the other's bunched around the student and staff entrance. The Summoning is organized and supervised by the staff at Ruxnorth Academy, as the ceremony is a way of unlocking dormant mage powers.

Derald joins the river of bodies and follows a willowy girl in front of him. A combination of exhilaration, adrenaline, nervousness, and excitement churn in the bottom of his stomach. He already knows that he has magic in his blood; his ticket confirmed that days ago. But the blood draw can't gauge the strength of his magic; that will be discovered during his Summoning. He crowds with the others into a cramped chamber, until suddenly, people are shoved carelessly out of the way by black clad guardsmen, huge bulking men. They look almost bored as people who refuse to move tumble out of the way. Derald scowls, the expression only deepening when he sees the telltale flash of ash-blond hair.

There is only one family in all the regions with hair like that.

The Bestels. Vieva Bestel floats past him, a stoic expression plastered onto her face. If she notices his snarl, she doesn't make a move about it. She hardly seems to care, even though many people in the room are expressing their unhappiness.

"Make way, make way," a guardsmen in the front sweeps his huge arm out to clear the path for one girl. Derald considers saying something to her as she passes by but refrains. The men don't look very forgiving. The professors seem flustered, while Professor Beledras looks like she wants to intervene.

His family is not poor. They are relatively well-off, with enough money to afford occasional luxuries. But the amount of money the Bestels own is absurd, in his opinion. That money could be used for so many better things, rather than hiring bodyguards. Derald can smell a whiff of her scented oil as she passes and squints his nose.

After a stunned moment, one of the professors-Wolfroot, he assumes- claps his hands together and smiles over brightly.

"Well then, let us get you assembled." The professors, eager to have something to do, split all the first years into small groups, navigating them into organized lines. They are clustered closely and Derald is pressed up against a remarkably attractive girl. He can almost hear his brother's catcalls in his head.

"Listen here, firs' years. Here's how this is going to work. When your name is called you go out and do exactly what the Headmistress says. No dilly-dallying, do what is told of you."

Derald bobs his head along with the others.

"Alright then, kids. Good luck." One of the more gruff looking professors gives all of them a rough nod, with a jerk of his wide chin. Derald rolls his neck, feeling tension squeeze him like a sponge. A slight sheen of sweat breaks over his body and he wipes his clammy palms on his pants. There is a slight humidity in the air and it isn't helping with Derald's nerves.

One by one, students are called to the center of the arena to summon their familiar. The awaiting students, Derald included, don't have any view of the happenings inside the arena, much to his irritation. As a Pellefard, he likes to think things through, plan every step. Being tossed into something as important as a Summoning blind doesn't appeal to him.

As the moderator errs closer to the last names beginning with p, his nervousness increases tenfold. The butterflies have turned from dainty critters to angry, stampeding golems. It isn't a good sign.

"Derald Pellefard."

His head whips up so hard he feels the bones bend. He soothes the ache in his neck before making his way towards the door, leading to the arena. The teachers watch him proceed solemnly, like silent guardians. His palms come up slick once more and he avoids their pressing, morose gazes.

Contrary to the weather reports, it's bright as Derald takes his first step into the arena. The crowd booms and bellows, eagerly waiting. There's too many people there for him to find his own family, even though he knows they are there, watching. The arena looks even more impressive on the inside than it does on the outside. Staggered stadium benches cover every inch of the stands, and everywhere Derald looks he can see cheering people. His knees buckle as he walks to the center, where the moderator awaits holding a box of sorts. It's a red velvet, a deep, wine-like shade. It's small, unadorned, but it emanates an odd energy. Derald inhales deeply. He's always been too high in the stands to see what is handed to each student but finally, now, he will get a chance to see.

The moderator smiles, falsely cheerful. His eyes betray him, showing his complete uninterest. He is red-faced, with bloated features. It's a common symptom in the men he sees in the local pub. The moderator opens the box and Derald squints at what's inside. It's nothing much, a simple, polished stone of lapis lazuli. It reflects the sunlight and glares to the sky above.

"Hold the stone in your right palm. Close your fist completely around it." Derald follows his words, wordlessly doing what the moderator tells him. The pin-drop silence is a blessing, as the moderator says the last command.

"Search for the magic buried inside of you." His eyes flutter closed. He is suddenly in a sea of complete blackness, stretching in all directions. His hazy sub-conscience squints, looking for the magic. What does magic look like, really? Derald would imagine that it's bright and pulsing, waiting to be found.

But that doesn't make sense. If that's what it looked like, he would've found it ages ago. Frustrated, Derald lets out a cry. Time has no meaning in his sub-conscience, but it feels like time is flying through his fingers. He is helpless.

Derald walks, going nowhere in particular. The darkness is never-ending, so he could be walking for, well, forever. Faintly, he can hear the rock pulsating vigorously, so much so that it makes his arm vibrate. Frowning slightly, Derald's sub-conscience stops and does a full circle, looking for the source of energy. The stone, up till now, has done absolutely nothing, so maybe detecting when the magic is coming near is what it's for. He wishes distractedly that he'd pried his elder siblings for more information.

Suddenly, he can see a bright speck. Considering he is smothered by all enveloping darkness, the light-albeit miniscule-shines brightly. His sub-conscience almost pounces on it and when his fingers just about brush it, another one appears mere inches away. Then another. Then another.

Dazed, Derald clambers to his feet, taking the first stone with him. He realizes after a few moments that the stone is a replica of the one he is holding. Excitement building, he follows the trail, edging a run. Stones appear as he goes, winding around in a mindless pattern. When his legs begin to ache, he sees it.

He has found his magic.

His eyes open and the rush of light streaming in makes the backs of his eyes throb. He feels... renewed, reinvigorated. It's a strange feeling but one that makes his deepening frown disappear. A nicker sounds from behind him and the crowd gasps, awestruck. Derald turns just in time to see a gorgeous horse, all sinewy and rippling muscle, canter towards him. It is completely black, with silk-like stands of ivory hair flying like a flag in the drafting breeze. Derald looks into its dark, depthless eyes as it lowers it's majestic head to him. The realization hits him like a seething wave.

He is a Tsunami.

The moderator doesn't look the least bit impressed by the beast impatiently dancing in front of him. Derald assumes it's because he's been moderating Summoning ceremonies for years.

"Derald Pellefard, state yourself."

The words flow like a stream from his lips.

"I am Derald Pellefard, Tsunami."

"And what will you name your familiar?" The man waves a hand dismissively at the kelpie, who tosses his head. The name surfaces to his mind easily, like a leaf upon a still pond.

"Slyff." It slips from his tongue and from the way the kelpie rears, he knows the creature approves.

✡✡✡

"Xara Roffinnes." Derald's mind prickles. He's heard that name before, but he can't place from where. He cranes his neck to catch a glimpse at the girl. From the looks of the other boys in front of him, he isn't the only one.

Xara Roffinnes is a beauty. She has black hair, seemingly darker than Slyff's which until now Derald didn't think is possible. Her eyes look like the eye of the storm, dark, brooding, and mysterious. She has a sharp look to her.

She takes calm, confident strides into the center of the arena, bearing herself proudly. Not the self-proclaimed, stiff way that Vieva Bestel and Kayd Wyvern do, but in a way that speaks of self-confidence. She repeats the same actions Derald had done.

Suddenly, thundering clouds gather moodily overhead, darker than any storm clouds he had seen before. The sun is completely blocked out and the arena is swathed in shadow. Confused whispers arise like mist. The sky rumbles, a sound that sends chills raking over his bare arms.

Xara still hasn't opened her eyes. She's dropped the stone, which is a few feet away from her. It's bright colors aren't as amplified in the spontaneous weather. She falls to the ground, rocking back and forth and tearing at her head. Cries escape her mouth but the arena is frozen to their seats, unsure what to make of this odd reaction. Summonings are fairly simple occasions.

Xara falls deathly still. For a moment, Derald almost believes she has died. But then she rises. Slowly, deliberately, like honey. When she finally lifts her face, he staggers back.

Her eyes are glowing.

They are orbs of brilliant light, radiating brightness. Gasps ripple through the crowd and Derald can pick up faint screams. Presumably from her family. Xara cocks her head, looking almost feral.

Ramrod straight, she clasps her hands tightly behind her back and slowly walks around the arena. The moderator looks terrified, shrinking with every step Xara takes.

But somehow, Derald knows that Xara is no longer present.

When she comes to a stop where she once stood, she uncurls her clasped arms and laughs. Deep, bellowing laughs. The lightning and thunder echo with her laughter. But the voice isn't her. It's deeper, more of a rasp than anything. A ferocious snarl-like smile curves on her face.

"100 years." She drawls, her voice at least an octave lower. "Being in exile for that long really does change you." A woman screams somewhere, fear making her voice raw. Derald can understand why. This proves the rumors are true. Originally, the Pellefards dismissed the newspaper article as a farce, a way to create commotion and drama. The Warlord, escaping? The Founders were-and still are-the most powerful mages ever to live. Four against one seems like an obvious win. Fear crawls like skittering bugs down his bag, making him jerk. Out of all the ways he'd imagined his Summoning to go, this definitely wasn't one.

"You see, one of the many, many faults of you people is that you trust, believe blindly," Xara-or whoever's possessed her-continues. "You believe the Founders"-she spits the word- "to be the gods and goddesses of the mage world. Your idols. Foolish. Do you want to know why?" Xara enunciates, speaking each word concisely and clearly. Her face is cruel.

"Because even your precious Founders couldn't stop me." Time has frozen still and the Warlord knows, his feline smile widening. It looks terrifying on Xara's pretty face. Suddenly, her face goes slack and slumps to the floor, motionless. Her hair sprawls out. No one moves, torn between helping Xara or remaining in place. A frenzied woman-whom Derald presumes to be her mother-heaves Xara up and carries her out.

Derald looks down. Even though he had summoned Slyff only minutes ago, he craves his familiar's company. He can feel their tether, strong and unbreakable. But Slyff had been transported to the holding sight, where he'll be picked up later on. Before he had entered the arena, Derald had been unsure about many things. What mage he was, how much power was inside him, how he'll summon his familiar. But, rising above all those, one thing is painstakingly clear.

The Warlord is back.